


Legacy

by Bool_Ji



Series: Pains, Gains, and Automata [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, Intrigue, M/M, Respawn Mechanics, Secrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 21:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bool_Ji/pseuds/Bool_Ji
Summary: Hanzo has been having a pretty typical stay with Overwatch when the past enacts its terrible tendency to rear its ugly head and send newly blossoming relationships down in flames.It's the beginning of the end.





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> I published this under two years since my last installment. That must count for something, right? 
> 
> In any case, here it is. The final "main series" fic of PG&A. I hope you enjoy. Promise the next chapter won't take as long. Probably.

_“Come here, young master! Come here!”_

_Sojiro Shimada has had enough of meetings. The family business is important, yes, with sales in the billions – the highest they have been in centuries of clan history. Its sheer size allows him to take the occasional break from phone calls and conferences. There are hundreds of people who work in their ancestral home alone who he trusts with his precious, powerful empire, including the nursemaid who tends to his son._

_“You can do it!_ Ganbatte _, Hanzo-chan!”_

_Not quite eleven months old, Hanzo teeters on wobbly legs. His balance largely depends on the floating lantern he leans upon. His nursemaid, a young woman, kneels several paces away, clapping her hands and offering a gentle smile. She carries a pulse pistol in her jacket and knives in her belt.  
_

_“Come here!”  
_

_“Sir–”_

_A lackey approaches Sojiro, holographic invoice in hand. The Shimada elder waves him away, scowling. No disturbances. Not now._

_Shifting gears, he crosses the garden. The nursemaid is surprised to see him crouch beside her, heedless of the creases drawn in his expensive trousers.  
_

_“Hanzo!” he calls, showing his palms, beaming with pride, “Here, boy!”_

_The baby’s face lights up at the sight of his father, eager babbling revealing his only pair of teeth. One hand leaves the lantern, reaching. Then the other. Surprise flashes across his face – he almost loses his balance; Sojiro leans forward to catch him if he falls – but he recovers, arms spread like tiny wings._

_He takes his first step. Another.  
_

_Five strides are all his pudgy legs have in him. He tumbles into his father’s embrace, laughing as warm cloth brushes against him, as he smells the familiar scents of green tea and gun magazine residue._

_“Well done, my boy!” Sojiro cheers, “Very good!” His heart feels fit to burst as he holds his son close. Everything about Hanzo is perfect and pure, from his thin black hair to his round nails to the carefully maintained fat of his belly.  
_

_He couldn’t ask for a better heir._

\- - -

McCree remembers where his phone is when his butt vibrates. He zips his fly up before taking the shaking device in hand, sprawling in the pilot’s chair, and answering: “Yel-lo?”

It’s Winston. Jesse half-listens to what he has to say. Far more interesting is one Hanzo Shimada. Draped under the cowboy’s serape, the archer pauses putting his pants on to crack a large yawn, hiding it behind his hand.

“Aw, you know me,” McCree says, “I can’t stay in one place too long. I get antsy.” He waits for Winston to finish. “Jayapura? Yeah. Sure, I’m game.”

Hanzo settles in the copilot’s seat beside him, inspecting the shuttle controls. There’s a vacant, drifting look in his eyes.

 _Being fucked silly will do that to ya_ , McCree muses. “I’m takin’ Ship Three. She’s gassed up ‘n ready t’go.”

On the other end, Winston asks a question.

The cowboy laughs. “Why’m I already in a ship?” He grins at Hanzo. “Just inspectin’ the plumbin’.”

The archer frowns, raising an eyebrow.

McCree blows him a kiss. Turning his attention back to the call, he says, “Consider me already gone. Yes, I’ll report when I git there. Sometimes y’sound like _mi padre_ , y’know that? You’d be good at it. Ever think of findin’ a nice lady ape t’go steady with?”

Winston splutters so loudly even Hanzo can hear it.

“I guess you’d call ‘er a _girl_ -illa, huh? All right, all right. McCree out.” Hanging up, he chuckles, shoves the phone back in his pocket, and dances his fingers across the dashboard. The shuttle rumbles to life, turbines spinning. “Space monkey could talk the ears off a cornstalk. The trick’s embarrassin’ him. Ain’t hard to do, in truth.”

Hanzo keeps his gaze locked on a screw in a wall panel.

Jesse waves. “Hey.”

Hanzo looks at him, mildly annoyed.

“You comin’ with?” McCree’s heart throbs. _Yer ridin’ the swell_ , he reminds himself. Whether another tide’s coming in or the waters are calm is yet to be seen. He braces for the latter, for Hanzo to get up and leave, for the longest plane ride of his life.

But the archer only nods once, drawing the serape tighter around himself. “I promised you seven days. Seven days you shall receive.”

Seven days as what? A couple? Fuck buddies? The questions burn like coals. McCree lets them slide. He has an entire week to find out. “You got it, darlin’.” The shuttle starts to rise, thrusters building into a muffled roar. “This is a twelve hour flight. There’s some books in the back, music, movies, whatever games the kids installed, shoot some hoops…”

When he glances over, however, Hanzo has dozed off, chin on his chest, long eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

“That works too.” Jesse smiles, sets their destination in the autopilot, and tips the seat back as far as it will go. There will be time for mindless entertainment. For now, he’s content running interference for nightmares.

\- - -

**Monday**

Jayapura has retained much of its past landscape and architecture. No skyscrapers, no lights in the streets – just simple housing, hotels, small businesses. The sun is barely up, Yos Sudarso Bay teems with fishing boats, and the humidity has yet to raise its ugly head. McCree and Hanzo land at the Watchpoint just after six-thirty AM, and Zarya is there to meet them.

The Russian is dressed simply in shorts and a T-shirt. She grins as the shuttle hatch opens and the two men step out. “Good morning,” she exclaims, “And welcome to Indonesia!”

Jesse tries to tip his hat. It’s long gone, but his smile isn’t. “Howdy, Zarya. Glad t’see ya.”

“Does the Outback still glow at night?” Hanzo asks, voice groggy. The yawn he looses is fearsome.

“Pardon him,” McCree explains, “He just woke up now.”

Zarya chuckles, folding her arms. “Sleepyhead deserves his rest. I have heard what he has done.”

Despite the numerous cracks and pops his stiff joints emit – the shuttle seats are not terribly comfortable – Hanzo sizes her up, eyes narrow. “And?”

She shrugs, cocking her head. “Saved many lives. Killed many bad guys. Not bad for first time. I hope there is more hero in you where that came from.”

The archer draws himself up, musters his best scowl. He will not rise on tiptoe to better meet her height, though he is sorely tempted. “Do not doubt me.”

“Oh, no, I am not.” She shows her palms in mock deference, smirking. “I only wish to be there, to shield you, when you slay cowboy.”

“Now hold up,” McCree grumbles, “Yer _still_ mad at me ‘bout that damn streak?”

“ _Nineteen kills_ ,” Zarya growls, “It was good run. Then you show up – _it is hiiiigh noooon_ – and boom! My hard work goes down toilet. Why? Because you were in wrong place at wrong time.”

“I don’t deny there’s an element of luck on the battlefield, but I don’t rely on it, Zarya. I’m packin’ years of skill. You _stole_ yer gun.”

“Tank was not using it. Besides, it shoots black holes. Your weapon is like kitten bite.”

Hanzo is almost ready to ignore both of them and find his own damn breakfast. He hasn’t slept for twelve hours straight since…ever. It’s a strange feeling. Part of him agrees with Zarya, that after facing his worst fear and coming out triumphant, he’s entitled to recuperation. But another part won’t shake a walking-on-a-tightrope sensation. He tries to ignore it. And Zarya has given him a distraction.

“Black holes,” the archer repeats.

The Russian startles. She nearly forgot Hanzo was here. “Yes! It is property of particle accelerator in gun.“

He rubs his beard, thinking back to the battle in Volskaya. “Surely that is not possible. Your weapon is not vast enough to attain the amount of energy required to collide particles at speeds to produce a black hole.”

Zarya laughs, clapping Hanzo on the shoulder. He shifts with the blow – but doesn’t buckle. _Good_ , she thinks. “You are more than just pretty face! Here, I will tell secret. The real weapon?” She pats her bicep. “Now then. Base is waking up. It is time to eat. Would you sit with me, comrade? I want to hear how much you know of perturbative theory.”

The morning has barely begun, yet it’s taken so many turns, Hanzo has whiplash. Food sounds like a good plan. “Admittedly, my knowledge largely stems from novels, but I will join you.”

“Nerd.”

As they make their way into the complex proper, McCree scratches his head. “No one’s gonna help with the luggage? No? All right then.”

\- - -

Watchpoint Jayapura was originally built as a base for Overwatch operatives in the Pacific Theater during the Omnic Crisis. Now it stands to observe the status of the Australian Outback post-omnium detonation. Dozens of physicists, ecologists, and climatologists call it home, and they, along with Overwatch members themselves, dine together in the sprawling mess hall.

Jesse makes due with a cup of strong coffee. Indonesian isn’t his favorite. Not since he learned about _nasi kucing_. Pharah explained to him _cat rice_ referred to portion size, not rice flavored with cat meat, but he’s not taking any chances.

Hanzo’s eating enough for two anyway.

It’s almost comical. First half a day’s worth of sleep, now a heaping plate of rice congee, shredded chicken, eggs, and shrimp crackers. Like everything Hanzo does, his chopstick usage is quick and precise, and McCree doesn’t doubt for a second he could kill someone with them if he had to. Through the eyes, maybe, or jabbed into the throat.

It’s too early to think of murder, however, so Jesse turns his thoughts toward nicer things. Like the soybean stowaway in Hanzo’s beard. He _could_ say something about it, but it’s cute, so he won’t. He sips his mug instead, half-following the conversation about space elevators and teleportation, half-wondering, as the archer reaches for another helping of fried tofu, if Hanzo is feeling well.

He’s about to ask when Junkrat joins them with all the subtlety of a cruise missile.

“G’day!” Fawkes snatches a cucumber slice off Hanzo’s plate, pops it past his lips, chews with his mouth open. He sits beside the archer, folding himself into the bench like an smouldering spider. “If it isn’t the employee of the month! Don’t worry, you’ll get your name ‘n picture posted on the notice board soon enough. Smile pretty for the camera!”

Hanzo fixes him in a caustic glare, coiling an arm around the rest of his breakfast. “What _are_ you?”

Junkrat grins. “What’d you do with the nuke?”

Hanzo has no idea. _Slept through the news_ , he thinks.

McCree fills in the blank. “It was safely dismantled. Won’t be botherin’ no one no more.”

Fawkes groans, throwing his hands up. “Really? _Really_? Woulda been a lot quicker to just blow it up!”

“ _Madman_ ,” Hanzo snarls, “It speaks volumes about Overwatch that they would let an _animal_ in their ranks.”

“Speak for yourself, mate! They pay me to do what I love, and I get called a hero! S’ a pretty cushy deal!”

“You are no hero. _I_ am a hero.”

Fawkes tugs at his smouldering hair, grimacing. “But nothing _explodeeeed_! That makes you a – an _anti_ -hero!”

Zarya’s brows raise in dull surprise. “He is right, you know. Not in way he means, but–”

“No no no no no,” Junkrat continues, “Real heroes – like myself – are macho–” He flexes his scrawny arms. “–tough–” Banging his fist against the table, he bites back a pained whimper. “–and make stuff go _KABOOM_!” He produces a grenade from his pocket, rolls it between his fingers.

Everyone around him quickly scoots away. McCree notes Hanzo takes his food with him. _It ain’t_ that _good, pardner_ , he thinks.

“See?” Junkrat shakes his head and taps the grenade on the tabletop. “Yer all a bunch of wussies! This one’s a dud. Dead on arrival. Passed away before its time. A shame, really.”

“ _Bwee-boop_?”

All seven-foot-three inches of one nature-loving Bastion unit lean over Junkrat’s shoulder, curious.

Fawkes replies with a shrill scream, transforming into a thrashing mass of limbs and embers. McCree and Zarya lunge away from the table. Hanzo leaps to his feet–

–the mine Junkrat slams onto the table sports gleaming red lights. Definitely not a dud.

Hanzo lashes out for Bastion’s arm, Junkrat yells “You think that’s funny? _I’ll_ show you fu–”

The world is bright white and loud. And then it is dark.

\- - -

He comes to with a start, groaning. Lying on his face, Hanzo pats himself down. There’s something wrong with this respawn. It shouldn’t feel like an anchor’s tied to his brain. He gives himself a moment just to breathe against the concrete floor. If he’s missing parts, they can wait.

He slowly finds the energy to stand. He’s in a room lit only by the glittering eyes of computer consoles. A python of thick wires crosses the ceiling; where they go, he can’t tell. There doesn’t appear to be a way out.

Hanzo can tolerate being alone in the dark. It’s the lack of a weapon that troubles him. Swallowing his anxiety and placating himself with the knowledge that he seems to have resurrected intact, he approaches the rows of servers.

The screen bursts to life. Hanzo flinches from the sudden shine, arms raised to fight. _Motion activated_ , he realizes, dropping his hands _, Recently used_?

There is only one file on the desktop. Hanzo would recognize the scowling face in the thumbnail anywhere.

It’s his. Pages upon pages of text are coated in blinding, black lines. Even the date of his birth is redacted. Not a single word has been allowed to exist. He tries to access the file. A separate window for no less than three separate, encrypted passwords blocks him. **Authorized Medical Personnel Only**.

The archer’s stomach churns, and not from his breakfast.

A wall slides open. Mercy stands on the other side, fanning dust from her face. “Hanzo? Are you in here?”

The archer wills his fists to open. “What is this?”

Angela steps into the room. “This is the old respawn chamber. Decommissioned from active use, yet kept running on background cycles in case of emergency. _Mein Gott_ , I was in the process of adding your data to the system when Herr Fawkes set off his explosive. I am relieved the backup caught you!”

That doesn’t help settle the butterflies. He points at the screen. “And what is _this_?”

Mercy takes one glance at the lines of black and freezes. She meets his eyes with a steely stare. “Those are your medical files.”

“Obscured?”

“For security purposes.”

“Show me.”

Taking a deep breath, Doctor Ziegler closes her eyes and makes a decision she will come to regret. “No. You are not ready to see them.”

Hanzo barks a tired laugh. “Of all people, I believe I am ready to read my own information. Am I not your patient?”

She folds her arms, frowning. “As of this moment, since I was interrupted, you are not.”

He stalks closer. “Refusing to disclose my own information must cross some ethical boundaries, Doctor.”

She holds her ground. “As is attempting to intimidate me. Now is not the time to tell you what I have found. I will tell you when a sustained peace can be guaranteed.”

Hanzo looms over her. He murmurs, “You do not want me as an enemy.”

“I could say the same.”

Footsteps ring from the hallway outside. Shimada presses past Mercy, stealing away before he can be intercepted. Alone, Angela sighs and massages the sudden ache from her temple. If only he would be as easy as Genji.


End file.
